Luyện nghe bài hát Bridges, Squares

As i to kendall square,
and crossed the river there,
the was black, the sky was blue,
the was old, the bridge was new.
and past the constricted mouth,
commercial lines flowed south,
or east across a sea,
where rising soon, the would be.
the are moved by sun and moon.
the spring last from march to june.
the red line train pass behind,
as as bridge joins stream and sky.
and that point where i did stand,
i at the works of man.
i wondered how walk began,
til red train came round again.
but not the time to ossify.
not the end of wondering why.
it's not in faith or your apostasy.
not the end of history.
as i can take, so i give,
if i could shop where i live.
as i can read, so i'd books,
if i could eat where i could
where talkers have a to meet,
walkers walk along the street,
and subways paths well hid,
but ferries you off the grid.
and not the time to ossify.
not the end of wondering why.
it's not in your or your apostasy.
it's not the end of... predicatble of historicity,
nostalgia for gas-lit i'll never see,
manifest, internationalists.
connected are the promenades and
the living waves of harbor and city days.
and is the builder?
was something missed?
hidden in the to the bridge that started this?
but it's not the to ossify.
it's not the end of why.
not in your faith or your apostasy.
not the end of history.
as i on to founders' square,
and crossed the river there,
the was grey, the sky was blue,
the was old, the view was new.
and from that point i did stand,
i at the builder's plan.
i wondered how this walk end.
til train came around again.
but not the time to ossify.
not the end of wondering why.
it's not in faith or your apostasy.
not the end of history.